


The Nature of Art

by xLaevateinn



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xLaevateinn/pseuds/xLaevateinn
Summary: “I think you’re looking about this all wrong, Inari,” Futaba finally announced after several minutes, pointing a finger at his chest as she spoke. “There’s no scoreboard with friendship, you know? Akira’s done a lot for all of us, but he doesn’t expect anyone to give him something in return. It’s ‘cause he cares about us as his friends and he does it because he wants to.” She shrugged, waving her hand in the air as she spoke. “No matter what, Akira doesn’t think of us as a burden to him because helping us was his own decision.”Yusuke learns the intricacies of love, of Akira, and of himself.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Kitagawa Yusuke, Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira, Kitagawa Yusuke/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 15
Kudos: 111





	The Nature of Art

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to @astralitte for beta-ing this for me as I crawl out of my cave and write something once per decade.

As much as he pained to admit it, Kitagawa Yusuke’s prior life was a dreary landscape of grays and whites and blacks. In many instances, such a palette could be pleasing, with the right theme and context and brushstrokes to capture the essence of monotones to bring out their full potential. Yusuke did not claim to be such a master of the craft, and his brushstrokes failed to bring beauty to the colors of his existence, even despite his best efforts.

Living at the atelier did have perks: painting as much as he wanted, producing the art he so desperately hoped to convey to the world, even if no one knew that he crafted the piece and not his sensei. Sometimes, regardless of his prior assertions to his now friends, the anchor of doubt weighed on his heart, and he watched with increasing apathy the brush dance across the canvas to create something uniquely himself, for someone else. It was like Takamaki-san had mentioned during the gallery: the art stemming from Yusuke’s fingers held sorrow, even though he himself did not notice.

Such is the nature of art.

She could attune herself to his innermost workings simply by looking at the colors on the canvas. Even though he didn’t want to, Yusuke took pride in what Takamaki-san gleaned from his work, in his ability to create something with his inexperienced hands, even though the message was bittersweet at best. And yet, he mused, sitting by his easel in his dorm with a brush in hand, eyes morosely focused on an unblemished canvas, and yet he found days where he did miss the atelier. The atmosphere was dedicated to nothing but the arts, despite the farce it truly ended up as. With a sigh, he placed his unused brush down in his tray, eyes wandering to his cell phone as messages lit up the screen erratically.

Unlocking the device, he quickly scrolled through the messages, watching as they—his friends, he reminded himself—discussed business regarding the Phantom Thieves. Now that Futaba joined their ranks, safe from her own heart, and Makoto before her, their team seemed to fill out quite nicely. Although he was a little overwhelmed as he never before had quite so extensive a group of acquaintances, Yusuke couldn’t help but think about the contentment wrapping around his heart. Even when they found no agreement regarding their next target, they all respected each other, found common ground, and accepted their opinions and concerns without issue.

Yusuke knew there was still much to get used to in that respect.

He said little in the chat, wanting to get back to painting—or try to at least. But his phone buzzed once more after the discussion died, and he saw a notification from Kurusu Akira. Yusuke’s brows raised in surprise after he opened the chat log with their leader, brushing a hair out of his face as he perused the message.

 **Akira** : Yusuke, you have time for me today?

 **Yusuke** : I believe I might. This painting is not as forthcoming as I had hoped. Perhaps a change of scenery will arouse the inner workings of my brush.

 **Akira** : I… see. Well, Sojiro needs me to watch the shop, I’m bored as hell because no one is here since Morgana went to spend the night with Futaba. Wanna come over? I’ll feed you.

Yusuke pressed a finger to his chin. As a stroke of good luck, his student pass allowed him access to Yongen-Jaya without paying any additional fare and the tantalizing offer of Akira’s curry brought him, figuratively, to his knees. Without much thought, he texted back his confirmation and read Akira’s response before exiting the dorm with his bag full of sketching supplies and heading to the station. The hot August air felt like he was being spun slowly over a fire like a skewer, sticky sweat clinging his clothes to his skin uncomfortably, and his hair applied to his forehead like a bandage he desperately wanted to remove. Though the train’s air conditioning managed to alleviate some of the discomfort, the ride to Yongen-Jaya was far too short to do any good.

The small area was quaint; he quickly grew familiar with the backstreets around the café as he visited the area quite frequently with the rest of the Phantom Thieves. Even Sojiro-san’s house sat only a short walk away from Leblanc, and in between Yusuke found himself drawn to the people around, living quiet ordinary lives. A life that he himself once lived, he noted, before he met Akira and the rest. Though, any change in his perception of the world could be directly attributed to their leader.

Akira was the one who carelessly climbed over the walls Yusuke had built around his heart, shutting out anyone who tried to get too close, his desperation for Yusuke to see the truth and accept his own rebellious heart leading him to where he stood, at Leblanc’s door. Everything Yusuke strived for before did nothing but lead him down the path of self-destruction he eagerly paved for himself with Madarame-sen—Madarame’s careful coaching.

Without Akira, Yusuke’s life would have remained the same; he would have remained the same willfully ignorant boy at the atelier, his work stolen from him in a lifelong game of greed and malice that Madarame played so well. A game that Yusuke walked into on his own two feet and played without knowing any of the rules.

A soft jingle sounded, tugging him from his thoughts as he glanced from the bed of flowers he was staring at to see Akira’s curious face peering around the doorframe. He wore casual clothes with the standard Leblanc apron tied around his waist, his glasses sliding halfway down the bridge of his nose. Akira, outside of the Metaverse, exuded a soft kind of warmth that Yusuke initially rejected but grew to admire. He said nothing, his eyes roaming over the form of his friend. “It’s a million degrees out here,” Akira noted after a moment, a bemused smile playing around the corner of his mouth. “How about you come inside?”

“While I believe we wouldn’t survive such an intense change in temperature, I would appreciate the air conditioning inside the café,” Yusuke replied agreeably and Akira laughed, the sound of his voice overlapping the bells on the handle of the door in a pleasant harmony. The door swung shut behind him, though Yusuke took a long moment to admire _Sayuri_ on the wall beside the counter, her soft eyes looking over the café the way they looked over his infant form in the painting. Leaving the painting here was the hardest thing Yusuke had ever done, even after all he went through in the Metaverse and Madarame’s sham of a Palace.

But he could not think of a more appropriate venue for _Sayuri_ to shine.

Akira did not exaggerate when he stated that the café was empty. The quiet hum of the television in the corner and the pleasant aroma of coffee and curry filled the vacant space, which Yusuke easily admitted as superior to the alternative of human occupants. “You’re allowed to sit down,” Akira once again interrupted his train of thought with his tenor tones, a note of humor hanging at the edge of his words as he watched Yusuke fumble by the door.

“Oh, yes. It appears that my thoughts are running away from me,” he responded dolefully, placing his bag on the bench seat of the booth nearest the door and digging out his sketchbook and a steel container of pencils. “I understand that you are working, so I brought supplies to occupy my time should you have customers to assist.”

Akira chuckled. “I don’t think we’ll need to worry too much about that, Yusuke.” He hummed back noncommittally, eyes roaming over his sketchbook as he turned to a fresh sheet of cream-colored paper near the end. Perhaps in his prior artistic euphoria, he hadn’t noticed, but he would need a new sketchbook somewhat soon. His art slump lessened somewhat of late, and the pages were filled with pencil sketches of all the new things he had experienced since becoming Fox. Since awakening Fox? Yusuke didn’t know.

Halfway through his book, the pages overflowed with studies, the first of which was Takamaki-san in her red latex outfit from the Metaverse. Much he drew from memory as forays into Mementos and Palaces left little time for leisurely activities such as drawing, but with each new infiltration he managed to snag a new detail, discover the perfect hue, capture the lighting the way it reflected off the shiny red fabric. Another page he dedicated to Ryuji, though his form proved less pleasing to draw than Takamaki-san’s. The rough edges of his Skull mask, his aggressive posturing while swinging around that metal sledgehammer, the sharp cut of his clothes.

Each page interspersed with quick sketches of Morgana, both in and out of the Metaverse, as Yusuke found it enticing to have the opportunity to practice with a cat that would pose the way he asked. Even so, Morgana never declined the opportunity to be drawn either. Makoto followed, and then Futaba… and finally Akira, as Joker, with a two page spread dedicated to his theatrical acrobatics, his graceful but intense movements as he skipped between hiding spots, and the way he stood when his gun focused between the eyes of a fallen Shadow. Yusuke tapped the sketch with the tip of his pencil, brow furrowed as he tried to remember exactly how Akira’s mask looked.

A loud click sounded to his left, and he tugged his eyes away from the sketchbook to see Akira standing at his elbow, a hand resting on his hip. “Those are really good,” he mentioned conversationally, sliding the plate of curry closer to Yusuke and settling a cup of coffee right beside it. He peeked over Yusuke’s hand to see the page and he froze at the close proximity as he felt the brush of Akira’s soft dark curls against his cheek.

“I—ah—yes, thank you, Akira,” he said, swallowing thickly. Akira’s gray eyes combed over the pages, his finger hovered over the various poses Yusuke had sketched out with careful attention to as many minute details as he could recall. “I find the Joker side of you to be quite intriguing, though difficult to capture on paper.” Akira glanced over at him sharply and Yusuke flinched slightly, wondering to himself if he said something wrong. “I—apologize,” he stammered, sliding back in the booth to expand the distance between their noses.

Akira stood up straight. “Oh, Yusuke, no, don’t apologize,” he said with a vague wave of his hand though Yusuke still felt unsure. “Sorry, I was just surprised to hear that.” Silence stretched between them and Yusuke watched as Akira chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “You have sketches of everyone else too.”

He nodded, glad for the change of subject. “Indeed. There is something to be said for the raw intensity that we all experience while within the Metaverse,” he explained, placing his sketchbook and pencil aside and drawing his food closer to him with a smile. “I doubt I could ever capture the way I see everyone there, the changes I find in their—well, their personas—as they find the strength to fight on, to continue pursuing their own goals and aspirations.” He was rambling and he knew it, but the encouraging smile on Akira’s face spurred him on. “I am very much enamored with the idea of it.”

Yusuke lifted a spoon to his mouth with a huge heaping of curry and rice, savoring the taste on his tongue as his eyes fluttered closed. “You sure you’re not just enamored by my curry?” Akira said, catching his attention as he glanced back to see him twirling a bit of his fringe between his fingers with an imperceptible expression on his face. He blinked momentarily and looked back down at his plate and his cup.

“Admittedly, I very much enjoy your cooking,” he stated easily, continuing to eat without any reservations. Akira’s warm hospitality kept him from going hungry, and nothing Yusuke did would ever make up for it. For anything that Akira had brought into his life; from the early frustrations when he refused to see the truth about Madarame to the current calm happiness of camaraderie. Yusuke never had so many friends before, so many people who counted on him.

A hand rested his arm. “Yusuke?” He met Akira’s eyes, his face alarmed. “Are you okay?”

He tilted his head. “I’m fully recovered from my cold from last week,” he said, pondering on the question as he tapped the back of his fork against his lip.

“No, you’re—you’re crying,” Akira hesitated, fingers pressing against the skin of Yusuke’s forearm.

Placing the fork down, he lifted his free hand and pressed the pads of his fingers to his cheek, feeling the telling dampness of tears rolling down his face. “Strange,” he said in confusion, retracting his hand and looking back to Akira. “I’m not sad. In fact, I’m quite happy to be here.” The tears wouldn’t stop, dripping down his chin and plopping onto the table before him. Akira leaned down to eye level, his other hand reaching up to press against Yusuke’s face, his thumb wiping across Yusuke’s cheekbone. Yusuke tensed at the touch, at Akira’s eyes so bright and close to his own. Gray as a winter storm, with all of the ferocity and intensity, specked with deep brown hues spiraling out from the pupil and framed by long, dark lashes. He had traces of darkened skin underneath, notes of restless nights, but the aberration did nothing to take away from his beauty.

Uncertain, Yusuke repeated, unable to tear his gaze away, “I am incredibly happy to be here, Akira. I am uncertain why I am reacting this way. Perhaps I am truly enamored with your curry and this is merely my response to enjoying it after a long wait.” Silence mounted in the room, the spots where Akira’s skin met his thrumming with something that Yusuke could not place his finger on. Happiness? Expectation? If so, of what? Yusuke had no answers.

Akira broke the touch first, slowly removing his hands from Yusuke’s face and arm before taking a long step back away from the table. “I’m glad you’re here too,” he said, quietly, before heading back behind the counter and leaving Yusuke sitting at the table, his thoughts turning quickly with no destination.

**Akira** : Hey Yusuke

He returned to his dorm shortly following his embarrassing display, though he allowed himself to enjoy what Akira created for him so as not to be wasteful before he did. As he excused himself, Akira pressed several containers of leftovers into his arms, his smile apologetic, though for what Yusuke could not determine. With his spoils carefully tucked away for later, Yusuke found himself before his easel again, staring at the blank canvas and willing it to come to life.

His phone caustically beeped a reminder that he left a message unread and he stared at the device, trying to will it into silence with the power of his thoughts. When it refused, he sighed and finally gathered the courage to open his messages with Akira.

 **Yusuke** : I apologize for my delay in response. I have been attempting to fill my canvas, and yet I am being evaded despite my best efforts.

 **Akira** : No worries. Here, to cheer you up!

A photo filled the screen next and he opened the attachment. Akira sat in the attic, though the soft black fur of Morgana obscured half of his face as the cat peered into the camera with what appeared to be an uncertain expression. Still, Akira’s broad smile radiated through the photo, his hand thrown up in a peace sign behind Morgana. Despite himself, the corners of Yusuke’s mouth perked up at the sight.

 **Yusuke** : I am glad to see that Morgana has been returned to you from Sojiro-san’s home.

Without a response, another photo popped up in their chat. This time, Morgana lay in Akira’s lap, head lolling to the side with his paws stretched out before him in sleep. Akira didn’t face the camera, but the gentle expression on his face as he buried his free hand into Morgana’s belly fur made Yusuke’s heart flip.

 **Akira** : Morgana is pretty photogenic. I think we should make him a cat food model or something

 **Yusuke** : I am not sure Morgana would agree to such a venture due to the fact that he is not a cat.

 **Akira** : LOL

His mood infinitely improved, Yusuke turned away from his canvas and instead retrieved his sketchbook, his hands knowing what they wanted to draw before his pencil even touched the page.

“Hey. Hey, Inari.” A finger poked him, hard, in the side of the face and he dropped his pencil with a clatter onto the table that he had made camp on at Leblanc. When he arrived Sojiro-san advised him that Akira was working elsewhere that night, though it didn’t stop Yusuke from holing up in one of the empty booths under the loving eye of _Sayuri_. The first hour went quite well, the gentle pattering of rain on the window lulling him into a bit of a quiet trance as he drew, no sounds but Sojiro-san bustling about the café.

The second hour, however…

“You looked so intense over here, I figured I could come and lighten up the mood,” Futaba said cheerfully, sitting across from him at the table and setting up her laptop in front of her after shoving all of his supplies to the side. Yusuke stared at the haphazard pile of his belongings, brows pinched together in the middle, before turning back to his companion. Her jacket was still damp from the weather, shoved unceremoniously into a pile next to her on the bench as she tapped away on her computer, eyes concentrated.

With a frown, he replied, resting his chin on his knuckles, “I suppose I could be too wrapped up in my work.”

Surprised, Futaba’s fingers froze over the keyboard. “Whoa, you’re agreeing with me? Who are you and what’ve you done with the real Inari?” Yusuke didn’t answer as his eyes tracked back down to his sketchbook, vague outlines covering the page but none quite conveying what he wanted to say. Perhaps he was thinking too hard about this piece but still… everything he couldn’t say in words could be properly presented in his art, if he could just somehow make it work. “What’re you working on anyway?”

With a sigh, he flipped his sketchbook closed. “I was hoping to present a gift to someone dear to me, but my untrained hands have made little progress.”

“Oh, a gift? For someone you like?”

Yusuke looked to Futaba curiously. “Is it common practice to gift something to a person you do not like?” She rolled her eyes and flopped her head down onto the table, heaving a rather unnecessary sigh. Struggling with the situation, Yusuke added awkwardly, “Well, I do enjoy his company and he has been instrumental in my growth as a person. I wanted to relay my thanks to him.”

Futaba popped back up as her expression became perturbed. “It’s for Akira, isn’t it?” For some reason, Yusuke flushed though he knew there was no reason for embarrassment.

“Yes, it is,” he replied simply, folding his hands over his sketchbook as stared down at the table, his eye following a scratch in the surface in an attempt to avoid Futaba’s critical eye. “As you know, Akira assisted me much in the same manner as yourself. He helped me look past the walls of denial I built around myself and come into my own person.” He pressed his hands together tightly. “Even once he completed that great kindness, he persisted in fully integrating himself in my life irrevocably.” A gentle breath escaped between his lips as he hung his head. “Despite all that Akira has done for me since we met, I feel as though I could never repay his generosity.”

Futaba tapped a hand to her chin, quietly thoughtful as she considered his words. “I think you’re looking about this all wrong, Inari,” she finally announced after several minutes, pointing a finger at his chest as she spoke. “There’s no scoreboard with friendship, you know? Akira’s done a lot for all of us, but he doesn’t expect anyone to give him something in return. It’s ‘cause he cares about us as his friends and he does it because he wants to.” She shrugged, waving her hand in the air as she spoke. “No matter what, Akira doesn’t think of us as a burden to him because helping us was his own decision.”

“His own decision, huh?” Yusuke commented faintly, leaning back in his seat.

“Yeah, exactly.” Futaba steamrolled over the conversation, speeding along like a bullet train with no intent on stopping. “Instead of trying to paint him something that you think would fix this weird obsession you have with feeling in his debt, give him a painting that shows your true feelings!” She punched her hand in the air, a victorious expression on her face.

"I see," he said, standing up from his seat at the cafe and turning to stow his things in his bag with a definitive motion. "I understand now." And he truly did. There was no doubt in his mind that Futaba's words honestly made sense to him. Yusuke didn't even realize that he neglected to say goodbye as he hurried out the door and towards the Yongen-Jaya station, his mouth skewed into a determined line. He stepped onto his train and heard someone call.

"Yusuke?"

As the doors closed, Akira stood in surprise outside, hesitation on his face as he watched Yusuke zip away down the tracks. Perhaps it was his current emotional state, but seeing Akira lit his heart in a way that he couldn't comprehend.

"You know, kid," Sojiro-san mentioned, peering over his glasses as Yusuke sat in the booth with a wrapped canvas sitting next to him, his hands clasped together in his lap in trepidation, his eyes fixated on the door before him. His breathing was calm—he practiced what he wanted to say every day for the past week to ensure that every moment, every instant spent in Akira's company was perfect. "You can wait up in Akira's room if it makes you feel a little less... tense."

He turned his head slowly to look at Sojiro-san. "Perhaps I will," he said, his voice a little terse in his anxiety. "I am afraid that I'm not certain why I am having this feeling, I am simply giving a gift to a dear friend and telling him how much I value his presence in my life." Sojiro-san's glasses slipped slightly down his nose, his mouth agape as he attempted to say something in return, though Yusuke couldn't understand why his expression changed in such a way.

"Well, uh, that's good for you. For him too." He cleared his throat and turned away as Yusuke finally made up his mind and carefully took the canvas into his arms before heading up the stairs, each thud of his boots echoing the dread in his heart. Perhaps the painting wouldn't be to Akira's liking, or his feelings wouldn't appropriately reach him, or... When he reached the top of the stairs and made himself comfortable on the sofa, the painting placed gently beside him, the gravity of the situation finally caught up to him.

Surely, if he backed out now, Sojiro-san would ensure that Akira never knew any different. He leaned over his knees, elbows propped on them as his eyes wandered aimlessly over the floorboards. But... if he didn't go through with it, would he have the courage to do it later? No, he wouldn't. Yusuke knew himself well enough to know that if not now, nothing would ever come of it. He steeled himself, holding his hands together in a half prayer.

The jingle of the bells of the door sounded and he heard the soothing tones of Akira's voice floating up the stairs as he conversed with Sojiro-san, though he couldn't quite tell the subject of their discussion. He stood, his heart pounding in his chest. Akira cleared the stairs and stood at the top with a smile on his face as he met Yusuke's eyes, twisting his hair between his fingers before he walked into the room to meet him. "I didn't expect you," he said easily, placing down his bag and allowing Morgana to leap out onto the table.

Morgana fluffed himself out and licked a paw. "I'm going down to eat," he announced to no one in particular as he turned tail and ran back down, so light on his feet that he didn’t make a sound on the creaky wooden stairs.

A comfortable quiet filled the attic for a moment, as Yusuke watched Akira with a deep furrow in his brows, pulling at his shirt sleeves. "I do apologize for intruding upon you unexpectedly," he started before Akira lifted a hand up to stop him.

"Don't apologize," he said, stretching his arms over his head and then stalking over to flop down on his bed, leaning on his palms and watching Yusuke intently. "I'm sure it was important. What's up?" Yusuke began to realize what Futaba had told him; Akira didn't consider a single one of them a burden on his time, or his energy. If he didn't want Yusuke there, he would say so. The thought eased his heart a little, though it still raced in his chest as he admired Akira from where he stood by the couch.

His face spoke of exhaustion, but the smile he wore encouraged easy conversation despite any other external factors. With a small cough to clear his throat, Yusuke nodded and motioned to the wrapped canvas on the couch. "Lately, Akira," he started hesitantly, pressing his palms together as he glanced away shyly and paused. "Lately, I have begun to consider my circumstances. The ones that you helped me find. How I’ve been able to learn from you and the rest of our friends, how you helped me work towards my new goals and grow into myself." He was no longer following his carefully prepared script, but he couldn't help it with Akira watching attentively. Yusuke took a deep breath.

"When I considered how important you are to me, and how much your help and your kindness mean to me, I knew that I could never repay you for it. And I've learned that perhaps there is no requirement for me to even a score that you are not even keeping track of." Akira's smile faded little by little, his face still intense and Yusuke could not stop now. "So, without further ado, Akira, please, accept this as a token of my affections."

He lifted the canvas and handed it to Akira, bowing deeply at the waist and leaving his head hanging as his friend accepted the gift, their fingers brushing as he held it carefully in his own hands. "Did you paint me something?" he asked, the softness of his voice leaving Yusuke wondering how he ever thought he knew what true beauty was before this moment. He stood up straighter, pressing a hand against the fluttery beating of his heart as his fingers trembled. Akira tugged the knot of the cloth wrapping, gentle with every movement so as not to disturb the art in his grasp. The thoughtfulness nearly brought Yusuke to tears. "Oh, Yusuke..." Akira held it out from him, his eyes wide and earnest as he examined the painting.

A painted Akira looked back at them from the canvas, his eyes soft and gentle with no glasses to hide behind, his hands folded gently before him as he leaned over the counter at Leblanc. A smile hung on his lips, a secret smile that Yusuke had only captured once in his mind when they got caught up in a conversation at the planetarium and Akira accepted the gift of the glow in the dark stars that were plastered over his ceiling. A smile that Yusuke selfishly coveted for his own.

Hesitantly, Yusuke asked, "I hope that it conveys my true feelings Akira." The words were strange rolling off his tongue—he never felt so cautious about his art before, never doubted that his brush would express the passion and love that he imbued with every stroke. But with Akira, everything was different. It was important and vital that he knew. He must.

With a ginger motion, he traced the paint strokes of his own face, eyes wide in what appeared to be awe. "Yusuke, I..." Akira trailed off, setting the painting down on his workbench where it couldn't tip over or get damaged and turned to Yusuke, his gaze alight with a dazzling passion that he'd only seen before in the Metaverse, whenever they entered the Treasure room. His heart leapt into his throat, wishing he could capture this moment forever. Akira stopped before him, a hand hesitantly reaching up to lay against Yusuke's chest.

"Akira," he acknowledged, unmoving, his heart preparing to vacate his chest cavity at any moment as the warmth of Akira's hand burned through his shirt to the skin. A hot flush burned at the back of his neck and trailed around to his ears.

A cautious expression crossed Akira's face as Yusuke did not move. "Did I... misunderstand?" he said quietly, and Yusuke almost missed it.

"Misunderstand?" His voice sounded breathy, as if he had forgotten to breathe for the last five minutes and continued to struggle with remembering how. "Ah, in what way? I did hope that perhaps when I presented the painting to you, that you would accept... the way I felt..." Yusuke bit his tongue, suddenly aware of the emotions burning through his heart as Akira looked at him like _that_ , like he'd never seen anything so valuable in his life, so precious, so worth protecting. The dark of his eyelashes clashed with his pale skin, the gray focused so intently on Yusuke he forgot where he was.

The way Yusuke felt. Somehow, Yusuke had misinterpreted his own feelings all this time.

“I assumed that this is what you meant." Akira reached out to twine his fingers in with Yusuke's, tugging him closer and pressing their mouths together, moving his other hand to cup the back of Yusuke's head, tangled in his hair. He melted into the kiss, knees nearly buckling as he grasped Akira's waist with his free hand and held the two of them tightly together. When Yusuke broke the kiss moments later, he thought his face might be aflame as it burned from his cheeks to his neck to his ears and his chest.

There stood Akira, mirroring the tender wanting Yusuke had captured in the painting, who also appeared to be rather warm as he stepped back but kept their hands tangled together.

“Yes,” Yusuke agreed with a nod, Akira already beaming and pulling him in for another kiss. “Yes, that is exactly what I wanted to show you.”


End file.
